


Snapshots

by DameRuth



Series: Bliss [12]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Introspection, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: In the Bliss!verse, the TARDIS crew remembers the past.[Continues the Teaspoon copypasta - original posting date 2007.10.11.]
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Jack Harkness/Rose Tyler
Series: Bliss [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/14078
Kudos: 17





	Snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of another background piece, but one that lays groundwork for upcoming stories, so I thought I'd get it out there first . . . :)
> 
> * * *

“So, d’you know what he’s been up to?” Rose asked the Doctor out of the side of her mouth as they followed an excited — even bouncy — Jack down the TARDIS corridor.  
  
“Got an idea,” he murmured back. “Hard not to, seein’ how the TARDIS is a part of me, and vice versa.”  
  
Rose rolled her eyes in good-natured annoyance at the Doctor’s slightly smug tone, even as she wriggled her fingers to tighten their handclasp.  
  
“Still,” he added, in the tone of one making a confession, “I’m not clear on the details. The TARDIS is conspirin’ with him . . .”  
  
Jack came to a halt ahead of them, in front of a door that looked like any other. His grin was nearly incandescent, and he bounced a little on the balls of his feet. Rather redundantly, the empathic link they shared gave Rose a burst of his anticipation and pleasure.  
  
Earlier in their linear week, Jack had gotten irritated and dumped his ever present clipboard for a while, instead spending his free time prowling the TARDIS’s lesser-used corridors to burn off extra energy. At some point, he’d found a new temporary obsession, which he’d been working on “in secret” during every free moment. Whatever the project was, it had obviously reached completion, since he’d practically dragged Rose and the Doctor down to see it.  
  
With a theatrical flourish, Jack opened the door and ushered them into . . . an empty room. Just a smooth, marble-looking floor and walls that held only a faint tracery of the usual hexagonal rondel pattern. Everything was a neutral, off-white, and the lighting was dim and unexciting.  
  
The Doctor let out a faint snort of breath, as if he’d seen a guess confirmed, but Rose had no idea what was going on. Still, she held he tongue for politeness’ sake, clamping down on her end of the link to avoid transmitting any sense of anti-climax. She glanced back at Jack to try and get some idea of where things were going.  
  
Jack caught her eye and grinned, obviously catching her disappointed reaction even without the aid of the link.  
  
“Doesn’t look like much when it isn’t on, and it was broken when I found it, but I got it back online. Think of it as a photo album. For example . . .”  
  
He snapped his fingers . . . and Rose instinctively squeaked and grabbed the Doctor’s arm as the floor vanished and the walls of the room opened out into infinity.  
  
They were suddenly suspended high above a city, as if on a pane of perfectly transparent glass. It was similar to standing on Jack’s long-gone invisible spaceship, only from an even loftier vantage point. And that wasn’t the only similarity — once it was clear they weren’t going to fall, Rose’s recovering senses picked out the path of a river, and then the unmistakable shape of the London Eye. She shifted, and felt the reassuringly hard surface of the floor underfoot.  
  
A glance up at the Doctor showed him grinning at her response; Rose bumped him with her hip, and looked over to Jack, standing apparently suspended in midair with his hands on his hips and a look of sly amusement on his face.  
  
“Thought you might like a glimpse of home, to start things off,” he told her.  
  
Rose wrinkled her nose at him, but the astonishing detail of the illusion drew her attention away from him, her initial surprise replaced with wonder. It wasn’t just a visual illusion — the air was cooler, with a fresher scent than the TARDIS’ familiar ozone-and-sandalwood aroma, and it moved with broad, subtle currents that made the sense of being out in the open air exceptionally realistic.  
  
She loosened her hand from the Doctor’s and hunkered down to gaze “through” the floor in wonder.  
  
The image wasn’t static — she could see the pulse and flow of traffic along the tiny streets, like a film of blood cells coursing through capillaries. Rose even fancied she could hear the distant rustle of traffic, and catch a faint whiff of exhaust when the “breeze” was right.  
  
“This is amazing,” she breathed . . . and then, because she couldn’t resist, she added, “I didn’t know we had a holodeck.”  
  
“Oi!” came the Doctor’s immediate, irritated response. “This isn’t a ‘holodeck.’ You’ve got ‘Star Trek’ on the brain, you have. This is a three dimensional environment replicator.”  
  
Rose rested her elbows on her knees and grinned over her shoulder at the Doctor. “Which is different from a holodeck how, exactly?” The sound of their voices was different, too, she noticed — there were no echoes from being in a bare, enclosed space.  
  
The Doctor’s expression was mortally offended, but Jack (who had taken a crash course in 21st century pop culture under Rose’s direction) looked, if possible, even more amused than before.  
  
Rose straightened and threaded her fingers back through the Doctor’s in partial apology, even through she couldn’t stop grinning. He grumphed at her but returned her hand-squeeze readily enough.  
  
“What’s it used for?” she asked. “After all, with a TARDIS, you can be anywhere you want, whenever you want . . . assuming the steering works. Why d’you need a room like this?”  
  
The Doctor steadfastly ignored her hint that the TARDIS’s navigational systems might not be the most reliable, though Jack snorted appreciatively.  
  
“It’s a record of everywhere the TARDIS has been. Useful if you’re traveling for research purposes, and then bringin’ the information home,” the Doctor replied, easily enough, but Rose’s stomach muscles tightened in surprise. He almost never spoke of anything to do with “home,” especially his.  
  
As if not noticing Rose’s reaction — unlikely, given the way they were touching; if the link didn’t clue him in, any slight tightening of her fingers would — he continued, “This is how my people liked to explore the Universe — at a comfortable remove. No need to pop open the doors and step out, feel different air on your skin and different ground underfoot. Just send out a drone or three to make recordings. Just like the real thing, only safe and clean and sterile . . .”  
  
There was bitterness and derision in his voice, but also a deep sorrow and longing, the memory of something that was, and would never be again.  
  
Jack cleared his throat and stepped a little closer. “I was surprised at how much was in the memory files,” he said in the tone of one looking to shift the mood slightly. “All kinds of places. For example . . .”  
  
Another snap of the fingers, and the illusion changed, plunging them into another world.  
  
Rose ducked instinctively as a wave higher than her head broke into spray on the rocks in front of them, the air suddenly full of the roar and scent of the sea.  
  
Not one of Earth’s seas, though — the sky was a high, hazy blue-violet, and the noontime sun was half the size of Sol but easily as bright, burning a vivid blue-white and throwing harsh, clear light on their surroundings.  
  
The three of them stood now on a thin, rocky promontory of columnar basalt curving out into the water. Immediately in front of them, abrupt mountains rose out of the sea. They were mostly the dark, charcoal color of bare basalt, but splashed here and there with purple, brown, and yellow-green patches that hinted at vegetation of some sort. On a few of the tallest peaks, sparse patches of white snow reflected the pale sun’s light. It was a harsh landscape, but one with a spare beauty to it, Rose thought, turning her head to look out over the silvery expanse of white-capped water that reached (apparently) to the far horizon behind them.  
  
“Welcome to the Boeshane Peninsula,” Jack said, with the air of a tour guide . . . and an undercurrent in his voice and emotions that caused Rose’s attention to snap to him immediately. It was nostalgia, tempered with old pain and grudging affection.  
  
“Wouldn’t’ve thought it rated a recording, being so far out in the middle of nowhere,” Jack continued without looking at is companions. “In about a hundred years or so, there’ll be a city there, across the bay.” He gestured at the base of the mountains where they rose from the water. “A spaceport and a seaport both. Never more than a million people at any one time.” His jaw snapped shut, and he nearly glared across the water at the empty shoreline.  
  
Rose studied Jack’s profile carefully. He never spoke of his past, being even more guarded than the Doctor in that regard. Daring, she asked him, “Is this your home?”  
  
The Doctor’s hand tightened around hers — in surprise and possibly warning, Hard to tell which, since they were all carefully shielding the link between them, now.  
  
Jack didn’t seem upset, however. “It’s where I was born,” he replied without shifting his gaze, and the irony in his voice was bone-dry. “Good place to be _from_ if you know what I mean.”  
  
Then, unexpectedly, his voice softened slightly, and his end of the link relaxed, sending forth a faint tendril of wistfulness. “Some days, though, I miss the sea, the light on the water . . .”  
  
Rose, still watching his controlled, handsome profile, bit her lip and sent a ripple of sympathy through the link in his direction. The Doctor didn’t make so obvious a move, but he began radiating that particularly stable _there_ -ness of which he was capable, and casually reached up to rest his free hand on Jack’s shoulder.  
  
Jack shot the two of them a sidelong glance that was simultaneously embarrassed and grateful.  
  
“Anyway,” he said, in a tone closer to his everyday voice, “The projectors weren’t working when I found this room — took a while, but I got them all online and aligned again.” He shrugged, but lightly, so as not to dislodge the Doctor’s hand from his shoulder. “Thought it could be fun to have working. We might be able to preview destinations, that kind of thing . . .”  
  
The Doctor tightened his grip on both Rose’s hand and Jack’s shoulder, momentarily, an affectionate squeeze that seemed to signal some sort of decision at the same time.  
  
“It’s also the only way to see this,” he said, his voice quiet, but carrying perfectly, even over the simulated sound of the waves. He added a few liquid syllables that the TARDIS for once did not translate . . . and the scene changed again.  
  
“Ooooh,” Rose gasped, with the uncontrollable delight caused by fireworks displays. Jack was silent, but the link sang with his shock and wonder.  
  
They stood on the floor of a mountain valley, carpeted with knee-high grass that rippled through shades of blood and crimson and garnet as the breeze hissed across it, almost an echo of the ocean waves they’d just left. The crest of every ripple shimmered golden in the light of two dim, warm suns, colored like brass and amber that shone in a rich, burnt-orange sky. A few wisps of cloud shone in that honey-rich expanse, delicately tinted with pink and gold.  
  
Rose recognized the lighting instantly — the dim, warm glow that illuminated the control room, and most of the rest of the TARDIS.  
  
There were mountains here, too — proud and sharp-toothed, capped with snow, and girded with bands of silvery vegetation that reflected the light as if being perpetually consumed by golden fire. Halfway up the side of the tallest mountain, directly in front of them, a city enclosed by a glassy dome shimmered like a gigantic peach-pink pearl. It was the only sign of habitation in the entire vista.  
  
Rose inhaled deeply, and tasted cool, thin air scented faintly with cinnamon and clove. She didn’t dare shuffle her feet in the slightest, for fear of breaking this gorgeous illusion with the intrusive reality of the smooth, unchanging floor beneath her feet. She opened her end of the link, and let her joy and appreciation flow freely to her partners. There was no other response that seemed appropriate.  
  
The Doctor accepted her feelings with a sensation of pride, love, and loss so keen and piquant it was nearly painful.  
  
Jack radiated awed wonder, like someone seeing a dream made real. He was the first to break the silence, and Rose was treated to the rare sensation of hearing him speak in translation, since he normally used English around her.  
  
“First and Fairest,” he said, with the inflection of a man reciting something memorized long ago.  
  
 _“Brighter than fire, the Shining World,  
The Citadel over all, pin and pivot of Time . . .”_  
  
The Doctor closed his eyes, and Rose and Jack followed suit in sympathy at the pang that shot through him.  
  
“Didn’t know anyone still remembered that poem,” he told them. “The War took so much, burned it clean out of Time . . .”  
  
“Oh, we remember,” Jack breathed. “This is Gallifrey.” He opened his eyes so he could continue looking at the distant city.  
  
Rose took a deep breath of clear, spicy air and smiled. She tilted her head back, and opened her eyes to stare up into the warm depths of the sky before she leaning closer against the Doctor’s arm. She rubbed her chin against his leather-shoulder. “Thank you,” she told him, watching the golden sunlight ripple across the blazing grass. “It’s beautiful, like those gems we saw the other day, the whaddaya-call-its . . .”  
  
“Fire opals,” Jack supplied.  
  
“Yeah. Like that.”  
  
Without speaking, the Doctor freed his hand from Rose’s, and slipped his arm around her, shifting his other hand around Jack’s far shoulder so he could pull them in close.  
  
“This is all that’s left,” he said, smiling slightly even as the ache in his chest tightened until all three of them could feel it. “This, and the TARDIS . . . and me.”  
  
Rose and Jack slipped their arms around his waist, binding the three of them even more tightly together. There were no words, only the link, echoing with memories, joy, and pain.  
  
( _We’ll help remember,_ ) Rose and Jack sent together, speaking with one “voice.”  
  
The Doctor gave a short, sharp, hitching sigh . . . and then spoke a single syllable that sent the illusion away like a puff of smoke.  
  
Rose and Jack reached to each other, and completed the circle of a full, three-way hug. After a timeless moment, Rose pulled back slightly so she could look up at the Doctor’s face. She sniffed, reflexively, but managed a shaky smile.  
  
“If I could, I’d like to go back, sometime . . .” she told him.  
  
He met her gaze, his own eyes sparkling with an extra sheen of moisture, and gave her a wobbly, naked little smile that nearly broke her heart. “I’d like that,” he replied, in a voice that cracked halfway through.  
  
Then Jack, silent, but by no means uncommunicative, pulled both of them back into a tight embrace. They complied, the three of them reaffirming the home that was _now_ , in the face of what had gone before, while around them the TARDIS hummed in respectful harmony, echoing the songs of a world lost to Time.  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=16045>


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